The farmer and his spouse had never seen De Vlierbeck so pleasant and so gay; and, as they sincerely loved their master, they were as much delighted by his joy as if they had been preparing for a village fair in which they were to take part.  They never dreamed of pay for their generous toil, but derived their most grateful recompense from the pleasure they imparted to the hermit and his child.

As soon as the principal preparations were completed, De Vlierbeck called his daughter and gave the necessary instructions for the dinner.  Lenora was to confine herself to drilling the farmer’s wife in serving the dishes with which she was not familiar.  The old cooking-apparatus was lighted; wood kindled and crackled in the chimney; coals glistened in the grate; and high above the roof-tree, clouds of smoke betokened the good cheer that was to adorn the tables.  Baskets of game were opened; stuffed poultry, savory pasties, and choice viands, were brought forth; dishes of green peas, beans, and other vegetables, appeared; and the women were speedily in a turmoil of stringing, shelling, cutting, washing, and stewing.

Lenora herself did not shun her part in these humble duties, and amused her companions by the pleasant chat with which she whiled away the hours.  The rustics, who had rarely enjoyed an opportunity of seeing her so closely or of enjoying a familiar conversation with the beauty, were of course delighted with her gay and affable manners; nor could they avoid expressing their pleasure when a few notes of a popular song happened to drop from Lenora’s lips.

The servant-maid instantly rose, and whispered, loud enough to be heard by Lenora,—­

“Oh, pray, do beg mademoiselle to sing a verse or two of that song!  I heard it at a distance the other day; and it was so beautiful that, fool as I am, I blubbered like a baby for half an hour behind the rose-bushes.  And yet I think it was rather her sweet voice than the words that made me cry.”

“Oh, yes! do sing it for us; it would give us so much pleasure!  Your voice is like a nightingale’s; and I remember too, that my poor mother—­alas! she is long ago in heaven—­used to sing me to sleep with that blessed song.  Pray, sing it for us, mademoiselle.

“It’s very long,"’ said Lenora, smiling.

“But if you only sing averse or two; it is a holiday with us, you know, mademoiselle!”

“Well,” returned Lenora, musingly, “if it will make you happy why should I refuse?  Listen:—­

  “Beside a deep and rapid stream
  A lonely maiden sat;
  With sighs her snowy bosom heaved,
  And tears bedewed the ground!

  “A noble walked along the bank
  And saw her bitter grief;
  And, as her tears overflowed his heart,
  It melted for the maid!”

  ‘Speak, maiden, speak!’ the wanderer cried! 
  ’Why moan you here alone?’—­
  ’Ah, sir, an orphan-child am I,
  Whom God alone can save!